


This Weight We Share

by DawnsEternalLight



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Dick is tired and just wants his family, Fluff, Food, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Police Officer Dick Grayson, because I cannot control myself, cuddle fic, lots of food in this one, snuggles, this was supposed to be 1k but ended up at 5k
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 06:17:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16759600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DawnsEternalLight/pseuds/DawnsEternalLight
Summary: Dick's just coming off a tough case and exhausted. What better way to recharge and relax than spending it with his dad and brother?





	This Weight We Share

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spread_my_wings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spread_my_wings/gifts).



> Written by request for a donation to Cerusee's gofund me

The precinct buzzed with excitement even as Dick stood in line waiting for his turn to grab a slice of pizza. It felt a bit like he was back in grade school during a holiday party, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waited for his turn at the boxes filled with grease coated pepperoni, sausage, and cheese slices. Only now he wasn’t bouncing, but more attempting to balance against exhaustion. His eyes itched, staring at the uniform clad back of one of his fellow policemen, the blue of his coat blurring slightly as Dick’s vision unfocused.

A hand clapped onto his shoulder threatening the balance he was holding, and snapping him back into reality. Dick held his footing as Bobby’s voice, bright and happy accompanied his hand squeezing.

“How about that collar, Grayson?”

Dick gave him his best smile. “It couldn’t have gone better.”

“Fourteen men,” Bobby continued as they stepped forward. “I didn’t think we’d get three, let alone the whole gang.”

Normally, Dick was up for small talk. He didn’t mind talking to fill up time or space,and most days he’d be fine chatting in line. Today, all he wanted was to call it a day early and crawl into bed. He’d been up for somewhere over forty eight hours and he was surprised no one had called him on the bags under his eyes yet, even the best concealer couldn’t hide the dark circles gracing his face.

“But fourteen men!” Bobby’s jovial tone continued, as he clapped Dick’s shoulder for a second time. “I bet you’re proud.”  
  
Dick’s smile felt stretched. “It wasn’t just me, you know. I didn’t even arrest any of them.”

“Yeah, but you cracked it. From their meeting time to that confession.” Bobby shook his head, “I’ve never seen an interrogation quite like that.”

Dick shrugged, making Bobby’s hand fall from his shoulder at last, leaving a cold spot. He’d been tired and strung out by the whole case. The fourteen men had been part of a drug and human trafficking ring, haunting both Dick’s unconscious and waking hours to the point where all he wanted was a break. So he’d pulled out all the stops, pasting on his best Batman face that intimidated while still not giving away who his mentor had been.

“Honestly, it was nothing. Just doing my job.”

He’d reached the front of the line at last. Pepperoni, sausage, and cheese flavors all shining with grease greeted him. The display left Dick searching for andouille and pineapple instead. Or not pizza at all, but one of Alfred’s tried and true recipes. What he wouldn’t give for a fragrant roast or warm crab bisque paired with a hearty slice of sourdough.

Dick pulled out a slice of pepperoni, cheese stringing from the box to his paper plate. He dragged out a second piece, the one sharing most of the cheese string, and plopped it on top of the first, a fold of cheese meeting between the two pieces. The sight of both set his stomach twisting against itself, exhaustion fighting actual hunger.

“Keep up the good work then.” Bobby’s voice was still too bright as he finally let Dick scuttle off to his desk.

On the way back, he cast his eyes around the precinct, reading the room. Pieces of pizza and cookie cake were spread across desks as officers worked, continuing cases dropped for the day’s events, or taking up newly assigned work. Hands waved at him as his eyes locked with fellow policemen and smiles were sent his way from those who noticed him looking. Everyone was busy, and celebratory mood or not, work still went on in the precinct.

That mood, while normally enough to energize Dick, was draining. His back felt like a pile of rocks had been shoved into it, with one particularly stubborn pebble stuck under his shoulder blade. It shifted into a dull throb as he sat, his chair squeaking in response to his weight finding its place on it again.

Dick set his paper plate down and rolled his shoulder back, feeling the crackle, pop of muscles too overworked and tired from days and nights of straight work. Muscles that had been pushed to their limit in both patrol and police work, all aimed towards the very reason for the day’s celebration. He leaned back into the chair, hoping it’d ease the tension in his back.

He reached forward with arm that wasn’t aching and dabbed at his pizza absently with a napkin, counting out his own work for the day in his head. If he was focused enough he could wrap things up a little early and make it home in time for a power nap before patrol.

Patrol. The word seemed to drain something out of Dick he didn’t know was still there. It was a feeling akin to times when he’d have a full workload and someone would add an extra case to the top. Or when he’d been tired from school and Bruce had suggested they head down to the cave to take inventory.

Dick wadded the napkin, it’s white made translucent and shiny with grease, and tossed it into the trash bin under his desk. He took a bite of the pizza and grimaced, the tomato sauce hitting sharp against his tongue as he chewed. Crab bisque would be heaven right now.

“Grayson!”

Dick’s eyes flitted up to see his capitan waving a folder at him. He waved back, swallowing down the lump of pizza, the crust taking its time to drop into his stomach. He stood, and his back twinged, the rocks shifting into pressure in all the wrong spots. Images of a hot bath, or a massage, fingers digging into sore muscles and easing out tension, came to mind.

He didn’t really have time for a long soak or massage. He’d be lucky to get enough time to sleep before patrol, let alone work out the kinks in his sore muscles. He couldn’t help but think back to when he was a kid and he watched Bruce overwork himself into exhaustion. He used to push to have his father take a break, to take that long soak or lounge on the couch with him. He argued against the very thing his mind was telling him to do now.

“New case?” he asked, moving to meet them.

“A robbery in old town. Take Prescot and check it out.”

He took the folder, the fibrous texture scratching against his palm as he held it against his side. “Prescot, eh?” he quirked a smile. “Off desk duty already?”

“And shadowing you today.” His capitan said before he waved him off.

The case took up the rest of Dick’s thoughts for the day, shoving aside both thoughts of patrol and baths until he made it back to his apartment. There, he leaned heavily into the door as he swung it open, letting it close with a thump behind him. He kicked his shoes off a few steps before he hit the couch, falling face first onto it with a groan.

His arm was bent at a weird angle as he lay on his stomach, putting unwanted pressure on the shoulder he still hadn’t managed to roll out. Dick groaned again and flipped himself over, attempting to dig his shoulder into the spot where the seat met the back, like that might soothe the tight ache. He sighed, all the air in his chest flowing out in a long stream and closed his eyes against his lights.

Dick lay there, not moving or thinking, or doing much beyond breathing for a long moment. He let time stretch, his itchy eyes gaining something from at least being closed. His mind wandered, mostly over the way the couch’s fibers were soft under his palms, and against his toes as he curled them, not quite catching fabric.

It was nice, breathing in and out and letting everything fall away for a few moments. He shifted once to curl closer to the back of the couch, pulling his knees up towards his chest, and letting his cheek press into the plush back cushion. He could fall asleep here, let go of the last few strings of awareness and get that nap he’d been wishing for.

He shifted his hand towards his jacket pocket to find his phone and set a timer, why bother extracting himself from the couch if he was already half asleep? He’d do just as fine here as he would his bed. He felt the smooth plastic of his phone and tugged it out to look at, thumb pressing the center button to bring it to life.

Only the black screen never brightened. No light met his tired eyes to make them squint in displeasure. No blue tinge appeared to cover his cheeks and forehead. Had he turned it off? He held down the power key waiting for the telltale white light, but again it never happened.

Dick furrowed his brow at the phone, legs shifting to straighten on the couch. He couldn’t remember when he’d last looked at it, let alone charged it. The case had eaten up all his time for a week. It hadn’t been that long, but Dick couldn’t rule out the device being dead for at least 24 hours.

He knew he’d pocketed his civilian phone that morning to have it close, in case Tim or Alfred called. He was waiting on Bruce to respond to a text too, about doing lunch in a week. He’d needed it close by for his peace of mind, but he hadn’t thought to charge it. Stupid, stupid Grayson.

He swung his legs over the couch and stood in a fluid motion. Air rushed into his head with a roar crashing against his skull with force enough to make him stumble, his vision going blurry for a moment. He sucked in a breath and released it slowly, feeling his lungs fall as they emptied. It was fine, just the rush of blood from getting up too fast.

He blinked away the blurred vision and took in another deep breath, drawing the air in slowly until his lungs felt full to burst, then released it in a long measured exhale. It helped steady him, and when his balance felt natural again he hurried forward to the bar where his charger lay and plugged in his phone.

It only took a few seconds for the screen to burst with brightness, white light filling it for a moment before the manufacturer’s logo appeared, followed by a little battery with a single bar blinking red.

How long was it supposed to take for a dead phone to charge enough to turn on? Five minutes? Ten? It was changing with every new release and Dick had stopped bothering to care about knowing, assuming the fact wouldn’t come in handy. Now, five minutes or fifteen, they all felt like an eternity as he waited. His fingers tapped out an impatient rhythm on the counter between trying the power button to see if it had enough energy yet.

At last the phone started to turn off instead of giving him the incessant little battery symbol. Dick’s heart hammered against his ribs as he waited the final few seconds for it to boot up, praying he only had the normal amount of missed connections. Too many junk emails, something funny from Tim, a text from Alfred checking in. The normal things, nothing pressing or worrying or life altering.

His apps loaded, then the messages started flooding in. Little red numbers above mail and missed calls and texts. He had two voicemails from Tim, four missed calls, and even more texts. He skipped checking any of them, going for the direct call. His hand was sweaty already on the phone as he pressed it almost painfully to his ear.

“Come on,” he muttered. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.” Each pick up matched his heel hitting the linoleum of his floor with a thump.

The ring cut out with a tired, “Hello?”

“Tim.” The name flooded out of Dick with all the air in his lungs.

“Dick? You okay?” Tim sounded as worried as Dick had felt.

Dick wanted to kick himself. No matter what news waited on him he didn’t need to add anything more to Tim’s place by making him worry about Dick.

“You called,” Dick said. “I was just checking back in with you.”

“Did you not check my message?” Tim asked. “I thought I left one telling you not to worry, we figured it out.”

Dick chuckled, his chest responding to the way all his worry seemed to empty from it. “Timmy, I didn’t bother to check my texts, let alone messages.”

There was a pause from the other side of the line, and then, “Oh, crap. Dick I’m sorry. You probably thought--I didn’t mean to--It was just a case question, one Bruce cleared up quickly.”

Dick leaned over onto the counter and let himself smile, happy his worry had been for nothing. “It’s fine, that’s on me for not checking.”

Even as exhaustion was returning to take the place of worry Dick was already happier than he’d been before the call. He missed hearing Tim’s voice. Missed seeing him and spending time with the kid. He was bright and eager, and Dick always enjoyed being around him.

“Are you okay?”

Dick stood straight. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You didn’t sound so good when you called. Are you sure?”

“I’m fine,” Dick said, trying to sound casual and not exhausted. The truth was that he was on the verge of asking Tim to come over. He hadn’t realized how much he needed family close by.

He didn’t mind spending time with other people. Friends, co-workers, acquaintances, but that wasn’t what Dick needed right now. All he really wanted was his dad and brother. Family who knew the feeling of exhaustion seeping into their bones and wouldn’t judge him for leaning into them. Who cared about things as deeply as Dick did. Who knew him as well as he knew them, and were familiar.

But they’d been working on a case of their own. As much as Tim tried to blow it off by saying Bruce cleared things up quickly he’d still called Dick multiple times and texted him about the issue. It couldn’t have been something simple, and Dick wasn’t going to bother them if they were just getting off a long case of their own.

“It was a long week is all. We had a big case, I think I might have told you about it?”

Tim hummed an affirmative.

“I just need some sleep and I’ll be right as rain,” Dick told him, fighting back the sudden ache that came with imagining a night spent alone.

“Yeah, I know the feeling,” Tim said, letting the line go quiet for a minute before, “You know none of us mind coming over right?”

All Dick wanted was to say ‘yes, I know’ and take him up on the offer, but he couldn’t. Couldn’t make any of them take the drive out to Bludhaven on his account. He really would be fine with some sleep. Fine enough to keep going.

Tim picked up on his delay, and sighed. “Just, take the night off at least?”

Dick chuckled. “I can do that. You too, make sure B knows he needs a break after a big case.”

“I didn’t say it was one.”

“You called me at least five times.”

“Why don’t we agree everyone needs the night off?”

Dick smiled. “Agreed. Get some rest.”

When the call ended, Dick left his phone on the counter to finish charging, making sure the sound was on this time. Instead of the long bath he’d been considering he settled on a shower. There was something about letting water beat at his shoulders and neck that felt good. It wasn’t quite a massage, but better than nothing. Instead of the warmth seeping into his muscles like a bath would do, it flooded over him, engulfing him for as long as the hot water lasted.

He got out when the water started to go cold, and opted for soft sweats and an oversized hoodie. His stomach rumbled at him as he pulled the fabric over his head, reminding him that two pieces of pizza did not constitute a healthy or full diet. Especially when he’d taken in less and less calories over the past few days.

Dick checked his phone again before heading into the kitchen, eyes scanning the device for any new messages, and finally reading over the old ones. Tim had been on the verge of asking him to come to Gotham to help out until his last all clear text. The emails had mostly been case info, now easily put off to the side for study in case it came up again. Everything else was unimportant. Still, he slipped his phone into the pocket of his sweats, happy to have it closer in case anything else developed.

Nothing in his fridge looked appetizing. The freezer and pantry were equally less help. He didn’t want to cook, he knew that. He didn’t want to do a whole lot beyond put something warm in his stomach and sleep. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and let his fingers slide over the smooth front, he could order something. Or maybe go out and get something.

Dick moved to his couch to sit on it, turning his phone over in his palm again and again. His mind kept going back to Alfred’s cooking. Even on nights he was making food for everyone, simple and high enough in calories to get them through training and patrol, it always tasted good. Like home and family and everything Dick wanted right then.

He let himself fall back against the couch, pulling his legs up so his feet rested on the edge of the cushion, the hoodie bunched around his middle. Doing life on his own was great, until it wasn’t. Until old memories caught him by surprise, and homesickness flooded over him. He liked living on his own, but days like this? Days where he was tired and beat down and done? Those were the days he wished he was a bit closer to home.

He tapped at his phone, scrolling through a list of places that delivered, absently searching for foods he wasn’t going to find on the list. He clicked out of the app, then back in, before turning his screen off altogether and tossing the phone to the cushion beside him. He leaned his head back against the couch and sighed, trying to push the hurt in his chest down, to keep it from rising and flooding out his eyes. He curled his toes against the fabric of the couch, wishing he hadn’t promised to take a break. Patrol would at least distract him.

His phone went off, blaring the ringtone he’d let Tim set for himself months ago. Some song his brother had been into that Dick had vaguely recognized from the radio, but now associated with Tim over anything. He fumbled for the device, that old worry bursting forth again inside him. Tim wouldn’t call again so soon after they’d talked unless something was wrong.

“What’s wrong?” Dick asked.

“I knew it.” Tim’s voice was vaguely accusing, but more excited. “I knew you’d jump right to worried.”

“Tim.” Dick wasn’t sure whether or not to be tired or irritated.

“You’ve proven my point.” his brother said, “Not that I needed it proved, we were coming anyway. Open the door. Neither of us has hands free to knock.”

“Then how are you-?” Dick didn’t finish the question as it hit him what Tim had said.

He stood, and didn’t quite run to the door to fling it open. Outside Tim grinned at him, a bluetooth device blinking blue on his ear. Next to him Bruce stood, not quite hiding the way his eyes scanned Dick in that worried way he did. Both had their arms full of bags. Tim had one of those large, insulated ones hooked over an arm and what looked like an overnight bag. Bruce’s stuff looked similar, including a computer bag Tim might or might not have made him bring.

Tim stepped forward to push past Dick, shouldering him lightly back. “Come on or it’ll go cold, and I don’t want to waste time heating it back up.”

Dick took a step back, and let Tim fully into the apartment. Bruce paused a moment to nod at him before following. Dick was still processing everything going on.

“Is it okay if I set the food on the bar?” Tim asked, before turning to Bruce. “B, I don’t think Dick cares where you put the overnight bags.”

Dick closed the door and watched as a mild burst of chaos ensued in his apartment. Tim waited long enough for Bruce to drop off the overnight bags then dragged him over to set down anything carrying food before shooing him away. Tim busied himself then with unloading tupperwares of food onto the bar. It was like Alfred had packed enough for ten people instead of three. Bruce dropped his bags by the side of the couch and watched, amused, as Tim took over Dick’s kitchen.

Dick moved to stand beside Bruce, opting not to help as Tim seemed familiar in Dick’s kitchen. He frowned, trying to remember how many times he’d had the kid over, how many was enough to know where everything was?

He gave up studying Tim to turn his attention to Bruce. His presence was familiar, and eased something inside Dick’s chest, letting it uncoil and rest. It was selfish to be so happy to have them there, but here he was enjoying every second of this unplanned visit.

“You guys didn’t have to come,” Dick said.

“Of course we did.” Tim’s voice trailed out from the freezer where he was filling up glasses with ice.

Bruce chuckled. “He feels bad for making you worry.”

“So you both came out here?”

“He also told me I had to rest.”

That made sense. Pulling Bruce from Gotham was the best way to make him relax for at least a night. Bruce needed it, that much was obvious. His shoulders were slightly hunched, like they’d borne the same weight of exhaustion Dick’s had for a week. The bags under his eyes confirmed how tough his case had been for him. Still, above that, his eyes were sparkling, and the corner of his mouth had already turned up in a smile at Dick.

He wanted to say thanks, to lean into his dad’s side and accept a warm hug. Wanted to pile everyone on the couch so he could cry or sleep or laugh or do all three. But everyone was tired, and they’d already done so much by coming, and bringing food.

Dick smiled at him instead, ready to make sure both Bruce and Tim got the rest they needed.

“Then I’m glad he brought you here. Two heads are better than one in getting you to take it easy.”

He stepped away, moving to help Tim finish setting up. His brother let him in, and they worked together as easily as they would sparring or patrolling. Alfred had sent a variety of food, some to hold Dick over through the weekend, and the rest for the evening’s enjoyment. In the collection was crab bisque, steaming and so tempting Dick almost dipped the serving spoon in for a taste.

Soon, all three were seated on the couch and Dick was greedily taking in the sight of his bowl of soup and the hefty rolls sent to accompany it. He tore off a chunk of the bread and dipped it in his the bowl, scooping what was probably too much soup onto it before dropping it whole into his mouth.

The familiar flavors were warm and delicious, even as Dick’s throat closed up thick against emotion. He choked down the bite, holding back hot tears. He couldn’t break down in front of Tim. If it was just Bruce beside him he would. He’d let the floodgates open and curl into his dad’s side. But he couldn’t fall apart in front of his brother. It’d scare him, plus what would that show him? Dick was trying his hardest to be a good role model for him, and falling apart at a good deed wasn’t the shining star of health he wanted to depict.

Thankfully Tim was talking, asking Bruce about something to do with school. Neither of them were paying Dick any attention, giving him enough time to swallow back the sudden need for tears. The school conversation, something about a trip maybe, continued long enough for Dick to gather his frayed edges together and down enough of the soup he was feeling more stable, not completely, but more. His chest still felt weighted, like something cold and hard was stuck in it, but he could bear it for now.

He made it through his bowl, and another, as he let Tim carry the conversation for once. Between bites he answered questions about his own case, and prodded both his brother and father for information on theirs. That was enough to get Tim chatting unprompted for a while.

Dick stood, needing to move, and collected empty plates as Tim’s story began to wind down. He hummed and ohed at the right places while he cleaned up. The dishes were quickly rinsed and put into the dishwasher. The few sets of tupperware left out were easily covered and tucked into the fridge.

He sat back down with a sigh, instinctually leaning into Bruce. His father shifted, letting Dick settled into his side, as he laid his arm over his shoulders. Dick grinned at Tim and kicked his feet up onto his brother’s lap, not wanting him to feel left out.

“Eww. Come on, Dick.” Tim said, pushing at Dick’s feet until the tumbled off his legs.

Dick adjusted, pulling his legs up and curled closer to him, still grinning, “That’s what kid brother’s are for, Timmy. Footstools.”

Tim huffed, and rolled his eyes, but he was smiling all the same.

They turned on mindless television and ate ice cream and relaxed. Tim fell asleep with his bowl cupped in his hands, making Dick have to rescue his not so fine china from a tumble to the ground. He deposited it onto the coffee table and snuggled back into Bruce’s side.

His dad’s hand found the back of his neck, massaging the tight muscles there for a moment before letting his thumb rub against the spot where his skull and neck met. Dick leaned into it, letting his eyes close.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but that old tight feeling in his chest returned with surprising force. Tim was asleep, Dick knew that even as the tightness turned into a hitch and building sob. He turned into Bruce’s chest, hand finding his dad’s arm to grip, and released a shuddering breath.

Bruce hummed as his hand moved from Dick’s neck to his back, tugging him close.

“‘Mm sorry.” Dick mumbled into his chest. “I’m just tired.”

That attempt to minimize the breakdown building inside him seemed to do the opposite, giving strength to the torrent of emotions until tears came bubbling out. Thick, wet drops built so fast he couldn’t blink them away, instead sending them scattering down his cheeks and into Bruce’s shirt. He balled part of Bruce’s shirt in his other hand and gave up holding back the tears. Tim was asleep. It was just he and Bruce. He could let go.

Dick let the exhaustion and late nights and ache of time alone flow out in a quiet stream down his face. He wouldn’t let himself sob and wake up his brother, but that didn’t stop him from sniffling. Bruce let him, holding him close and rubbing his hand up and down his back, soothing in its repetition.

After a while, the tears slowed leaving Dick exhausted but calm. The mix of emotions and weighted duty that had hung over him for days felt far away as he lay against Bruce’s chest, breathing in the smell of Alfred’s favorite fabric softener and Bruce’s aftershave.

“I missed you.”

Bruce’s arm around him tightened, and he pressed a kiss into Dick’s hair, “Me too.”

“I’m good, you know. Things have been a little overwhelming, but I’m good.”

“You’re tired.”

Dick nodded. “But this,” he untangled his hand from Bruce’s shirt and motioned to the kitchen, Bruce, and Tim. “This is nice. It’s incredible. I was dreaming about Alfred’s soup just today.”

He snuggled closer to his dad, shifting so he was more comfortably laid against his chest, feeling now like he had while he was still Robin when he and Bruce would snuggle after a long week. When they were both there saying, ‘this is good for you’ but really enjoying it for themselves.

“We had pizza after the case, and it was fine, but not Alfred’s.” Dick continued. “It wasn’t anything like those little ones we used to make sometimes, remember?”

Bruce hummed.

Dick sighed, “Those were the best, I could pile whatever I wanted on them and somehow they’d always turn out perfect.”

“You mean you could pile too much cheese and pineapple on them.” Bruce said, “Or make that disgusting dessert pizza you like so much.”

“No, you mean delicious. Besides, if I remember right you came up with dessert pizza.”

Bruce huffed, “Lies and slander.”

Dick chuckled, “We should do it again. Induct Tim into the pizza making tradition.”

Bruce hummed again, deep and thoughtful. The sound rumbled his chest, and Dick’s head over it. It was as familiar as anything to him, and made a smile tug at his face. He snuggled closer.

“Tomorrow I’ll ask him about it. Maybe we can use that for our lunch date. For now, I’m gonna sleep.”

He closed his eyes and let Bruce’s hand raking through his hair lull him into a deep, relaxing, sleep.


End file.
